


Rules of the Game

by KiaMianara



Category: Spy vs Spy
Genre: Black can't believe he's doing that, Hurt/Comfort, I shouldn't have to warn about them being their usual selves, Implied/Referenced Torture, Language, M/M, Mild Fluff, Suicide Attempt, White can't believe he's doing it either, is it OOC when their characters aren't clearly defined in canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaMianara/pseuds/KiaMianara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Black had come to accept two things as natural laws: White was his only match, professionally, and the only way one of them would die was by the hand of the other. So when one night White turned up at his door with wounds not inflicted by him, Black was forced to break the unwritten rules of being a spy one after the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You could say Black and White are rather OOC, but except for trying to get each other killed I don’t think they have much of a character in the comics, so I took a whole lot of liberties. Also, I'm horrible romantic and this fluffy plot-bunny had incredible sharp teeth, so if `fluff´ isn’t your cup of tea, you should consider to stop reading after the first chapter.

* * *

 

.o.

_Unwritten Spy Rule No 1: Never go unarmed._

.o.

 

Instead of wondering who would dare to bother him in the middle of the night as a normal person would Black just took his gun and released it. It was either one of his fellow spies or an enemy, although it was very unlikely for any one of them to actually knock, but he had been part of this for too long already to let down his guard because of such mundane details. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how they had found him here. This was his private apartment, for crying out loud, and when he said `private´ he meant that not even his own embassy knew it even _existed_. Not that he was aware of at least.

 

Anyway. It seemed after tonight he would have to find a new sanctuary, which was a pity considering that he actually liked it here. Friendly neighbours, beautiful location in a calm residential district, far away from everything that could be interesting to any spy but still near enough to get to work without much problems. Only death promised a more peaceful atmosphere and he wasn’t ready to retire yet.

 

Well, whoever dared to destroy his little piece of heaven was going to suffer indescribable before he would even consider asking why they came after him in the first place. Had they any idea what a pain in the ass the real estate market was even for people who _weren’t_ paranoid for justified reasons?

 

Black – that wasn’t his name, not even his code-name. The insult battles with his archenemy had at one point simply gotten so far that he hadn’t come up with anything smarter that call the other `White´ simply for always dressing in white and got called `Black´ in return for the same reason and now they were both stuck with it – sneaked to his front door, kneeled down and looked through the door crack. Some would call it silly, but, really, the times that alone had saved him from being blown to pieces proved him right.

 

He only saw a hand, probably still connected to the body it belonged to, but he hadn’t become one of the top spies – if not _the_ top spy – because he could be easily distracted. He also searched for a trigger through the keyhole, but couldn’t find even the smallest hint so the only thing he actually could do, was to open the door and brace for everything, from missiles to one of his neighbours, although the last part was very unlikely considering the hour.

_*Well, there’s only one way to find out.*_

Black pulled the door open ... and nothing happened. In fact, the corridor looked exactly the way it should, except for a lone, unmoving figure next to his door, dressed completely in white.

 

The dark spy quickly secured the corridor, before he checked on the person and only when he was sure that it was not a doll – he would not be fooled twice by the same trick – and that this was indeed his favourite archenemy, he allowed himself to be surprised.

 

What in the name of all that was holy was White doing in front of his private apartment in the middle of the night? And would someone be so kind and explain to him why he was unconsciousness? Well, no, the later was no doubt due to his altogether horrible condition and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen the other spy beaten up before, but never when he wasn’t the reason for it, which he definitely hadn’t been this time. It gave him a feeling of wrongness, but he ignored it in favour of considering his options carefully.

 

He could always follow his orders and just kill the man, get rid of the corpse, maybe take a few pictures to prove it and catapult himself at the very top of the payroll as well as the white nation’s most wanted list. Not that he hadn’t archived both already, but in the end curiosity got the better of him.

 

Why would White come to him of all people? And no one could tell him it was a coincidence that the other had dragged himself into the fifth of eleven floors of the middle one of three identical buildings and to a door not less than six apartments from the stairway as well as the elevator – when he clearly should be at a hospital or at least the sick bay of his embassy.

 

Maybe he should just go back in and pretend he hadn’t seen anything, but in a few hours his neighbours would wake up. Black somehow doubted he would be able to talk himself out of having a half dead man in front of his door, not to mention that he didn’t want to traumatise the pair next door nor their two kids. Of course he wouldn’t admit, even under the worst torture, that he might have a soft spot for them, but the point was: the less attention everyone paid to him and his apartment, the better.

 

And then there was this emotion, one he hadn’t felt in years, at least not since the early days of his training. He didn’t like it at all, especially because of the reason it came back now. In fact, he didn’t even want to name it, but nonetheless did he feel compassion rise inside him. Not very much, but enough to put his gun away and pick the other man up.

 

“I’m _so_ going to regret this” he told himself before he made sure absolutely no one else was around and carried White into his domicile.

 

.o.

_Unwritten Spy Rule No 2: Never expect mercy._

.o.

 

Two hours later Black let himself slip into his favourite armchair, brandy on ice in one hand, his gun in the other, eyes resting on his still unconsciousness counterpart (who resembled more a mummy now than a spy) on his couch. He had had to correct his first assumption. White had not just been beaten up; by the look of it has it been damn near the line of being tortured, but by whom? If his own embassy would have gotten hold of White, he would have heard about it and Lady Grey was didn’t work like this.

 

She was dangerous and ruthless and Black had learned the hard way not to underestimate her. However, her methods were usually more subtle. This simply wasn’t her style and since Black hadn’t run into White for a while it only left one possible option: A forth party had entered the playfield. That would also explain to a certain degree why White had come to him – the enemy of my enemy and all that jazz – but it was not very likely that a new organization could be good enough to trap the man even _he_ had his fair share of problems with without kicking up some dust beforehand.

 

On second thought would that actually fit into the story quite nicely, but his guts were telling him that wasn’t the case here and he trusted his instincts for good reasons.

 

At least he had someone to answer his questions and this someone was just waking up.

 

Black expected the other spy to reach for his gun – which laid in Black’s safe – jump up and at least try to escape. He was prepared for that, already moving to take aim at the other, but again he was surprised.

 

Acting against every single instinct the other must have developed during his own training, White only lifted his head, looked around in alarm and laid back with a relieved if disappointed sigh as soon as he spotted Black. That he was unarmed in his enemy’s apartment and aimed at by said enemy didn’t seem to worry him at all.

 

“Mind to tell me what you were doing at my door?”

 

No reaction. Had that crazy bastard fainted on him? It would be the first thing this night _not_ surprising him.

 

“I’m not known for my patience, as you should know best.”

 

“If you’d have any intention to kill me, you would have already done so. You want information, I’ve got them and since I’m not in the shape to survive any further torture, I would like to go back to sleep if _you_ don’t mind.”

 

That bastard! He seemed to be in a better shape than Black would have given him credit for, already getting cocky again, but obviously in a bad enough shape to accidentally let valuable information slip through.

 

“So you _have_ been tortured. Interesting.”

 

White actually winced, which must have hurt, but the other cared little about it.

 

“Just leave me alone.”

 

“Unlikely, considering this is _my_ apartment.“

 

The wounded didn’t answer, just continued to stare Black right in the eyes until the dark dressed man sighed and rose.

 

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this” he grumped and went to the kitchen. Although White wasn’t in the condition to fight, probably not even able to stand, and Black had the only weapon in the room, he never let the other spy out of his sight while he made them a few sandwiches. One could never be too careful after all.

 

He put the plate down on the white spy’s stomach, took one for himself and went searching for a blanket since the other would likely stay for at least a few hours. He didn’t care if White was comfortable, but he definitely hadn’t gone through the work of patching him back together to let him freeze to death without getting more information out of him.

 

“You’re either growing old or sentimental. Or both” White teased emotionless, but accepted the cover without hesitation.

 

“You’re one to talk. I’m just trying something new and while you’re here you’ll never know what is going to happen next. Your food could be poisoned, I could stab you while you sleep ... You’re completely at my mercy right now” Black said giving the other spy his mark trade evil-bastard-grin before heading for his bedroom.

 

“You wouldn’t dare ...!”

 

“Why not? You’re overestimating you’re value to me. I actually don’t _need_ any information from you and, as you know, I can be quite a sadist if I want to. Rest well. Oh, and the little one next door is teething, but you should be used to screaming, shouldn’t you?”

 

Black closed the door, satisfied with the outcome of their little chat. White had looked quite worried and that certainly not because of the teething baby. He was probably not going to get much sleep, while Black himself booby trapped his door just in case and got as comfortable as he could with his archenemy in his home. The next day promised to be entertaining.

 

.o.

_Unwritten Spy Rule No 3: Never show mercy._

.o.

 

The following day turned out to be ... actually no fun at all.

 

Since Black hated to waste food – he was by no means a nice person or any such thing, but he had gotten to know true hunger – he had to tell White just that in order to make him eat the damn sandwich and he couldn’t quite bring himself to torment the other with more than just a bit rough handling and threats. It just wasn’t any fun to kick someone already down. Not always at least.

 

In addition to that did the question who’d done that to the other spy concern him more and more, because that same person/organisation could also be a real threat to him, so after a late breakfast he seated himself again in his armchair and repeated his question.

 

“Who did this to you?”

 

“You ask pretty much for one who has no need for information.”

 

Fantastic. He should have expected his own words to be turned against him. Well, he had, but that made it no less frustrating.

 

“Call it curiosity.”

 

“Curiosity kills the cat.”

 

“You should know best, laying half dead in front of my door, which reminds me to mention that I know that you knew _exactly_ whose door you knocked on.”

 

“Now you’re overestimating _your_ value. I was at my limit and it was a door to an illuminated room, which usually means someone’s still awake. Now kill me, let me go or start asking some real questions before I die out of _boredom_!”

 

They could go on like this for hours just for the fun of mocking the other, but a knock interrupted them. A sharp glare promised White some `real´ questions if he tried anything, while Black went to open the door, wondering who it would be this time.

 

He half expected Lady Grey stopping by, with tea and biscuits, but to his relieve it was only his neighbour with her little daughter.

 

“Morning, Mrs M.”

 

“Morning? It’s almost noon” the young woman laughed. She always seemed to be happy and he wondered if it was only because her husband wasn’t – she had told him once he absolutely hated his job, but did it anyway for his family – and Black really tried to dislike her for it. It was a losing battle, to say the least.

 

“I’m sorry if I interrupted something. I heard voices.”

 

Black followed her look over his shoulder, mainly to make sure the other spy didn’t do anything. White had turned around and vanished under the blanket just in time so that the woman would not get suspicious by seeing a wounded man in her neighbour’s apartment. The police was something they both could do without.

 

“Yes, er ... he’s just an acquaintance. Got kicked out by his wife, so I let him crash here for the night.”

 

“I see” she replied, believing him without hesitation. To her he was just a handsome middle aged man who wasn’t very often at home – he had implied his none-descript government job had him travelling often. Sometimes sticking close to the truth was actually the best cover – left aside that he was `such a lovely dear´ when he actually was at home.

 

Maybe he would have considered calling her a friend, had he chosen any other profession.

 

“So ... You couldn’t take Nathalie for a while, could you? I’ve been putting off going to the grocery’s for too long already.”

 

The little one whined and hid her face in her mother’s neck. Black shared the sentiment. Children were just so ... ugh. He didn’t mind them next door, but the thought of being alone with one, independent of his arch-enemy on the couch, was maybe the scariest thing he had ever faced and that meant a lot.

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mrs M, but I need to get a few things myself, so if you’d just hand me your list, I could bring your stuff, too.”

 

“Oh, thank you very much, dear. You’re a real life saviour.”

 

Oh, damn it. On day he would start thinking before he actually said something like this, but now it was too late.

 

“I’m sorry we’re such a nuisance. Sometimes it’s as if there is a black hole in my fridge.”

 

“It’s not a bother, Mrs M. Has Nathalie all her teeth yet? I didn’t hear her cry last night.”

 

“Oh, I really hope she has. And it’s Boney, dear, I told you to call me Boney. Everyone does.”

 

“Alright, Boney. I’ll come over and pick up the list in a few minutes, okay?”

 

“No need to hurry. Forgot to write one anyway. I’m terribly sorry.”

 

“It’s alright. Just go and write it while I get my coat.”

 

“Okay. Thank you so much.”

 

Black waved her goodbye and finally closed the door, sighing with relieve. Sometimes he thought the only way to make her shut up was to actually strangle her and sometimes he wasn’t too far from it either.

 

“Just to make it clear: yes, I like them, no, it’s not a weakness to enjoy the company of normal people once in a while, and no, I don’t like them enough to get blackmailed” he said while walking in his bedroom and picking up some random clothes out of his closet, throwing them at White.

 

“I want you gone before I return. Use the second key and close the door behind you. I’ll at least change lockers anyway, not to mention move away. And, for God’s sake, don’t make too much of a mess when you search the apartment. The only valuable thing I have here are a few weapons – including yours – which are all in my jacket anyway.”

 

“You’re kicking me out?”

 

“No. If you would _live_ here or I’d care about your presence in any way, I would kick you out, but since this is _my_ home and you’re just an unwanted invader I give you the chance to remove yourself before I make you. I’ll be back in an hour.”

 

.o.

_Unwritten Spy Rule No 4: Never stay in debt of anyone._

.o.

 

When Black came back from the grocery with four large bags of which only the smallest was for himself – by all means, did they expect guest (please, no) or had this family truly a black hole or two to feed? – he was greeted by a every cheerful Boney with his second key and a monolog about how _lovely_ this friend of his’ was.

 

“Oh, yeah, he is ... nice” he said taking the keys.

 

_*I’m gonna kill him. Why the fuck didn’t he just left the damn thing in the mailbox.*_

“Sorry, but it was a rather short night and I still have some cleaning up to do.”

 

“Of course. Do you need any help, dear?”

 

“No, no, thanks. It’s not that bad, just bothersome.”

 

It wasn’t even a lie, not really at least. When he had left, his apartment been relative clean considering he liked to be lazy when in private; just some random cups and old newspapers laying around, and that was exactly the state he found his home in when he opened the door. The only thing different seemed to be the absence of the other spy.

 

_*Okay, how much could he possible done without leaving a trace while I was gone?*_

Black decided the answer lay somewhere around `a whole fucking lot´ and started to search, but to his surprise even after four hours of intensively turning his own, familiar apartment up site down he could find nothing out of place: no traps aside from those he set up himself, no cameras, no microphones, neither seemed anything missing beside the clothes he had given White and the blanket.

 

_*Don’t tell me that fucker just up and left and only took the stupid blanket! What the hell is going on here?*_

For a brief moment Black considered to say it out loud, just to prove it really sounded as ridiculous in his ears as it did in his head, instead he poured himself some whiskey, but didn’t drink. After all it could be poisoned.

* _Honestly, with what? He had nothing with him and the cleaning agents are all coloured_ * he thought, but skipped the liquor into the sink anyway. Better safe than sorry, because sorry agents were dead ones and he had thought ahead and brought a new bottle anyway.

 

.o.

 

Three days later the delivery service of a laundry nearby brought him a package, already paid, with the clothes he had `lend´ White in it. It was likely the closest thing to a thank you note he would ever receive; the blanket, however, never returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if you don't like fluff with these two, you can stop here. It's a good end; even I wanted to stop here at first, but then I thought `to hell with it´ and wrote everything else as well XD
> 
> Oh, and I'm a sucker for comments. Pretty please?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had hoped it was a one time thing only and Black wasn't sure if he minded that he was wrong, but it led to some disturbing thoughts.

* * *

 

.o.

_Unwritten Spy Rule No 5: Never let your guard down._

.o.

 

Weeks went by, becoming months, and it almost seemed like nothing ever happened. Black went on missions, like always; sometimes he met White on their private battlefield, or he went out to disturb one of the other’s missions. They tried desperately to kill each other, but ended up surviving it, more or less, to bother each other again and stay equal in the number of times they had completed their missions although the other had interfered. Now and then he ran into Lady Grey, but never anyone who wasn’t a civilian or couldn’t associate with one of their three embassies.

However, the devil was always in the detail: it still was only _almost_ as it had been.

 

There were two things that changed drastically in connection with his private apartment.

 

Against all logic Black decided against moving. Maybe he was getting old or suicidal, but he rather argued that he wasn’t there most of the time either way, so it wasn’t exactly attractive as a place for a trap. The simplest reason was, however that he simply hadn’t wanted to. It was a nice apartment and his and he wouldn’t be driven form it, end of debate.

The biggest change, however, concerned White, because every so often the other would turn up at Black’s door, his injuries never Black’s doing, and he couldn’t help but notice that it was getting worse every time.

 

And for some reason the dark spy patched the other back together and nursed him for a while time and again, so far providing food and booze could count as `nursing´, and then he would hear the door late at night or come back from an errant and everything left of White would be a package from the laundry a few days later.

 

The second time it happened he didn’t search through his whole apartment, only the more obvious places, after the third time he stopped bothering with that, too, and also quit acting as if White was his prisoner or in any danger of him. There was just no point. They both knew he wouldn’t torture, poison or do any such thing while in his private sanctuary, least of all with ever curious Boney living next door. That the woman _liked_ White only was the icing on the cake and he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her wringing her hands and trying to discreetly ask if that wife that kept kicking the `poor darling´ out happened to be a professional wrestler or some such and if `kicking out´ might be meant quite literally.

 

Black pretended not to notice the fly about domestic violence in her pocket and made up a story about White actually just being a bit odd, needing the excitement of an underground fight now and then although he was downright horrible at it. Since he couldn’t convince the other to stop he let him stay and recover for a few days afterwards before sending him back to his actually very patient and not at all violent wife, who probably knew but let him be. Boney, for all that she seemed rather simpleminded sometimes, wasn’t quite as ready to believe that, but didn’t argue further for the time being.

 

The fourth time White came to his door Black was already expecting him. He hadn’t figured the pattern out yet, but there undeniably was one than enabled the dark spy to stock up his first aid kit and fridge in time. The timing gave him trouble, though. It had nothing to do with the date, lunar circle, or the constellation of the stars – not that he would ever admit to have looked it up in the first place – and after the fifth visit he just stopped questioning things altogether. He didn’t ask who tortured White anymore, he didn’t ask for whys – sometimes they actually even managed to talk like normal people for about five to ten minutes before falling back into old patterns – and he stopped asking himself why he helped the other spy to begin with. He had other thoughts going through his head, some more some less disturbing, but still all connected White.

 

Something had changed within the other spy and not just in the way Black looked at him. When they fought the other seemed desperate to destroy him, yet hesitated when he actually had the chance. It made no sense at all to try and kill someone and at the same time want to save them and Black couldn’t even call the other out on it, because he did the same damn thing. Worse, even in his free time he caught himself thinking to equal parts about how to get White the next time _and_ how to protect him from whatever caused the visits, leaning more and more in favour of the later, and it drove him absolutely nuts.

 

Cursed be his natural protectiveness and cursed be White for managing to look so damn helpless when knocking on his door and, speaking of knocking, where the fuck was that poor excuses of a spy anyway? He had the feeling White would come here again – for the ninth time, but who bothered counting? – and until now his intuition had never failed him on this matter.

 

Black stopped in mid action, for the first time taking notice of what he was actually doing. There was rope, his favourite gun plus a spare and plenty munitions, knives, lock picks, a night-vision device, he already wore a bullet-proof vest ... oh, holy _Hell_ , he was almost ready to go out and search for that crazy bastard!

 

Now this definitely went too far. Patching that guy back together was one thing – a man needed a challenge. Without a proper enemy he would grow slow until a rookie would finish him up and White was still his only match in the business – but searching meant he cared not only for the challenge and entertainment, but for the person under the white hat, too, and that was inacceptable.

 

*Who am I kidding? He’s the closest thing to a friend I had in ... forever. It’s all his fault. Being so damn stubborn always to go back. I haven’t even said he should leave last time, and the time before and at least the time before that time, too.*

 

A really annoying ring tune disturbed Black’s thoughts.

 

*What the hell?! I have my ... oh, I just can’t believe this! What else did he leave here as soon as I grew careless?*

 

Luckily the music was long enough and its origin easily to be located behind the cupboard next to the door. It wasn’t a trap either, just a mobile phone on standby with one Hell of a battery. Judging by the dust it was covered with it had been placed there about three to four months ago, and it just had received a text message, containing the coordinates of a small alley in the local industry district.

 

This definitely screamed trap. It _had_ to be a trap ... but White would never set up such an obvious one, would he?

 

“Well, I guess at one point everyone goes bonkers in this job” Black concluded resigning, took his gear and went to find either White or a trap, but prepared for both.

 

.o.

Unwritten Spy Rule No 6: Never expect help.

.o.

 

The alley was even smaller in reality than the map had led to assume and probably even dark on a bright and sunny summer day. Now, however, on a cold winter night, it was pitch black, almost too dark for even his night-vision device, but again `almost´ was the operating term.

 

For a change it appeared to be good luck White insisted on his name-giving dress code, but more importantly seemed the area to be safe enough. No traps, no other spies, just the two of them, blood and snow. Almost poetically if Black would have had any appreciation for poetry.

 

“That’s one huge load of shit you got yourself in” Black commented off handed. He couldn’t really make out how badly wounded the other really was, but it had to be _really_ bad considering White had swallowed his pride and actually _asked_ him, his sworn enemy, so directly for help. What was even more disturbing was that White must have known before that it would come to this at one point. Why else should he have left the cell phone where he had?

 

White didn’t response, only his eyes moved, trying to figure out where his enemy was. Black signed, kneeled down and for once was gentle as he picked the other one up, more so than he would have thought himself still capable of.

 

“Try to hold on tight” Black said, placing White on his back. “I’ll bring you home.”

 

Did he imagine things or was that guy far to light for a grown up man? Well, considering how lose his tongue was, he would probably be up and about faster than Black could appreciate.

 

“You’re growing weak, getting all soft on me” White whispered hoarse, what was left of his voice sounded broken and overused.

 

“Shut up before you damage something I can’t fix. And you are one to talk, always returning to your embassy, only to come crawling to me when they punish you for failing.”

 

White didn’t response and Black wondered just when he had actually come to that conclusion. Spoken aloud it made perfectly sense. Every time they met out on a mission Black would take a few days off afterwards to recover – no one would dare to stop him anyway – and every time White had lost their private game he would show up a few days later at Black’s door. That was the sequence. It was so simple, so obvious, but the thought that White’s superiors were to blame for this was just ... wrong. Sure, all of them, independent on what side, were the personification of what `normal´ people meant when they talked about the evil in the world, but wasn’t that all the more reason to be loyal to your own people?

 

“I never expected you to help me.”

 

.o.

_Unwritten Spy Rule No 7: Never underestimate your enemy._

.o.

 

Black stood next to the bed for quite a while. On the way home White had passed out and hardly come around when the dark spy had dressed his wounds, leaving the other to wonder which one of them was crazier.

 

Well, he knew the explanation for his own actions. Before he had become a spy, he had once been very passionate about a lot of things, not to say _com_ passionate with a protective streak a mile long and two wide, but later with only his own life to protect it had faded. In fact, he had thought it dead and gone until White had to triggered the old instincts again.

 

*Stupid White with his lovely blue eyes ... I didn’t really think that, did I? Ah, well, they had been fascinating until lately.*

 

Still, he couldn’t blame White. The other spy hadn’t come for protection after all, but to die, which was a whole lot more disturbing.

 

The White embassy must have changed their inner structure. Instead of rewarding success or not paying their agents if they survived a failed mission, they obviously had started to punish them physically. Taken into consideration how White had looked worse every time he came, it probably increased with every failure.

 

How long had this already been going on? The first time the other came to him had surely not been the first time they had punished him, just the moment he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

It was ... not ironic and neither funny, actually. Black had tried for years to break White only to have the other’s own people do the job for and better than him even. True, he had had every intention to see White dead, but he had wanted to kill the man with his own bare hands, or at least to be the one to pull the trigger and not drive the other into suicide. Honour was overrated, but for a man with White’s abilities there was naturally only one way to die: Black.

 

It wasn’t right, even for people like them, to be driven to such measures.

  
“Unlucky fool. Who do you think I am, expecting me to kill a helpless man in front of my private apartment? All it would have taken was for you to lose somewhere out there, but I guess your pride was the only thing you had left.”

 

He thought about the SMS earlier. It was inappropriate, but the thought made him snicker humourlessly while he walked to his bedroom door, not caring if the man in his bed was awake or not.

 

“You know, the sad thing about it is: now _I_ am the only thing you have left.”

 

Black closed the door and eyed his couch. It wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture, but it would do until he had figured out how to proceed from here.

 

Laying down he tried to get some well earned and much needed rest, but there were still too many questions running through his head, like what to do about the new gained information about the white embassy ... and then he heard unsteady steps.

 

At least it wasn’t much of a surprise anymore when the door opened, but White didn’t leave the supporting frame, forcing Black to turn around. He half expected to at least have a gun pointed at him – despite all that happened he still thought in his old patterns – but it was nothing of the like. Just White, leaning against the frame, only small parts of his skin not covered by bandages and patches, messy blond hair falling over his feverish, bright blue eyes; not seducing, neither begging, but asking a simple but for them very difficult question.

 

“You’re not serious, are you?”

 

No reaction and Black resigned (another thing he was getting used to).

 

“And I thought I can’t sink any lower” he said and walked over to White. He said nothing more, just led the other spy back to the bed, pressed him down on the right side while he claimed the left as his, pulling the cover over both ears. It wasn’t long until the mattress moved and he felt arms slowly moving around his waist, a nose buried in his back.

 

Black stiffened to the point that it was painful. He wasn’t used to body contact anymore, as long as it didn’t involved violence or fast, meaningless sex and, while he technically wasn’t opposed to either in the current company, neither of them was in the shape for that or the right frame of mind.

 

“Don’t you think this is taking it a bit _too_ far?”

 

Instead of loosening the grip grew stronger and Black sighed again.

 

“Guess I’m really growing soft in the head” he complained, but turned around and returned the embrace. Just because it had been quite a while didn’t meant he would mind to get used to it again. It felt nice, even right to a certain point. Hitting, shooting and stabbing felt right, too, in their own way and they would probably go back to that sooner or later, but right now _this_ was good and that was the point when Black finally accepted that he had let the lighter spy too close.

 

White had sneaked through all his barriers, physical as well as mental ones, right into his heart. The thought to have to let the other go again suddenly sounded like a most terrible thing. They were enemies, for God’s sake; he wasn’t meant to like having White around, or to care about him, and it was definitely _forbidden_ to _snuggle_ without intending to betray the other, but that’s the way it was and God have mercy on the fool trying to hurt White ever again. Instead he intended to have him like this more often, maybe do a little more, when the other was healthy enough for such activity again and if he consented. In the eyes of society he might have committed every crime and sin known to mankind, but that’s where he drew the line, though he had forgotten how possessive he could get.

 

“Don’t even think about going back there, or I’m gonna tie you to the frame; uncomfortably, I might add. There are a gun and two knifes between the mattresses, in case you’re still planning to kill me, and I recommend to do it discrete. Mrs M. has enough problems with her kids. Doesn’t need to worry about secret organization activities next door on top of that.”

 

At first the other’s only reply was to again strengthen his hold, but then he add: “Boney. She told you to call her Boney.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shouldn't have let the other so close, but who could have predicted THAT would happen?

* * *

 

.o.

_Unwritten Spy Rule No 8: Never care._

.o.

 

Black found it surprisingly easy to get used to share his living space with someone. Maybe it was just because White was also a spy and thus used to similar `oddities´, but this parody of a domestic life was nonetheless something he never thought he could or would do voluntarily.

 

They had had a rocky start, as could be expected. He had almost stabbed White trice in the first night alone and in return White had tried to shoot him once in the early morning. Chances were good the other would have tried more often had he been less exhausted and not grabbed the blade of Black’s knive instead of the gun. It seemed they sorted their emergency weaponry exact the other way round and so Black again had to patch up White and switched the knive against a second gun.

That, however, was the least of their problems. White’s nightmares didn’t come with such a simple solution and that had only partly to do with the other being a very livid dreamer. The last time Black remembered to have had nightmares had been in his first year of active duty. After a while it had just stopped and now he simply didn’t know what to against them anymore, but that he had to do something to do about it was out of question.

 

Sadly he only knew only one place where he was sure to get the advice he needed without risking his pride and/or life.

 

“Boney?”

 

The woman was surprised to find her dark haired neighbour in front of her door, though not as much as she should be. Lttle Nathalie whined uneasily in her arms. The kid had either a sixth sense regarding bad persons or simply didn’t like to share the attention of her mother with more people than she already had to.

 

“Hey there, honey. You look worried; is everything alright?”

 

“I ... I wanted to ask you something. Er ... do you know something against nightmares?”

 

Boney looked up at him with big eyes. That was something she obviously hadn’t expected, but then she smiled sweetly, stepped forward and laid one arm around the larger man’s neck, the other one still holding her child. Black tensed and only just so withstood the urge to push her away when she pulled him against her. He still wasn’t used to physical contact and she had to stand on her toes to rest her head on his shoulder, but when she started to stroke his hair ...

 

“They are but dreams, my dear. Everything will be alright.”

 

It was like a switch and suddenly Black relaxed into the embrace. Maybe long ago, when he had been Nathalie’s age and completely obliviously to all the wrongs and cruelness of this world, maybe back then in his mother’s arms he had last felt so helpless and yet at the same time so _safe_. He couldn’t remember. Too many years being part of these wrongs, the bogeyman for adults, but the effect was still the same.

 

She held him like she would her own children for a moment longer than strictly necessary before releasing him. However, she didn’t step away, letting the other decide when to fully break the contact.

 

“Better?” she then asked like probably only a mother could, ignoring the light blush on his checks and the way he edged away without being impolite.

 

“I’m not the one with the nightmares.”

 

“I know, but it works, doesn’t it?”

 

“And you think I can do that, too?”

 

Since when was he so uncertain? Ah, well, he hadn’t been in a comparable situation since forever and he had learned the hard way to never go blind into unknown territory.

 

“Of course. All it needs is a little love and affection. You’ll see, it’s easy when you put your heart into it.”

 

“Female intuition?” he guessed aloud, seeing that Boney had already come to her own conclusion about the man dropping by at her neighbour’s place frequently and actually was she not as wrong as he would have liked to pretend.

 

“That and he sometimes comes over for a little chat when you’re away. Sweetie, you’re not nearly as discreet as you like to be.”

 

The shock must have shown, as the woman started to laugh heartily.

 

“My dear man, I may be operating on too little sleep for too long already, but I’m neither blind nor stupid. They way he talks about you, the smouldering, nay, _scorching_ looks you give each other, that you stand here now. Also, I recognise a notorious bachelor when I see one readjusting their life, mech less two.”

 

She wiggled the fingers of her right hand in front of his eyes, the simple gold ring catching the eye. Bloody Hell; hopefully he had never made such mistakes out in the field. His enemies weren’t nearly as forgiving as Boney.

 

“Just take good care of each other or I’ll come over there with my rolling pin and teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

 

Black actually smiled. That woman was _really_ someone else; annoyingly chatty, even on her best days, and very confusing, but she had such a good heart there just _had_ to be a law against that. It almost made him believe in human kind again. He should find something to show her how much he actually appreciated having her around, in a neutral, friendly way. Boney was great, but happily married, and it certainly wasn’t his intention to bring any strain into that perfectly normal and happy relationship with her husband.

 

If she now also had an advice for him how to do this without making a complete fool out of himself, he would never again complain about her happy-go-lucky nature.

 

“Hey, don’t look so wary. Just go fight his demons head on and don’t worry about the rest. He will appreciate it, even if he can’t properly express it. As adorable as the two of you are, you’re not really good with your emotions if you don’t mind me saying.”

 

Right. Knight in shining armour slaying the evil demons with his blazing sword. He briefly wondered if a black coat and guns would work just as well, but the man doubted it. He wasn’t exactly hero material, but he had to admit she still had a point if he ignored the comment about being adorable.

 

“I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

 

“That’s what good neighbours are for, my dear. And you might want to try hot chocolate. Nothing gives quite the same feeling of safety and home as a nice hot cup of cocoa with marshmallows and a good slip of rum.”

 

.o.

_Unwritten Spy Rule No 9: Never get emotionally involved._

.o.

 

Black was far past the point of simply anger; he doubted that any words would have been sufficient to describe the storm of rage and other things he felt even after trashing the majority of his apartment, but the reason was easily summarised in one single word: White.

 

The other spy was gone, as in back to his thrice damned embassy, like a heroin addict always returned to the needle although they knew it would kill them, and that stupid bastard hadn’t even left a note.

 

Just what the Hell?!

 

After two weeks of nursing him, actually trying to be gentle and even going through the trouble of calling in sick at work – what was _their_ problem anyway? Since his early days he hadn’t called in sick anymore for lesser reasons than being in intensive care and/or confined to bed with actual restrains – and he got nothing, not even a `thanks for last night´, because it sure had been the best sex Black had had in longer than he cared to remember.

 

 ... Okay, so it wasn’t just last night; the whole time had been ... great, actually. They surely hadn’t been the happy couple Boney and her husband were – always smiling and nice just wasn’t their thing – but in between their old habits of insulting and fighting they had found their own vision of happiness. Everything had been going well, or so he had thought, and now this.

 

The worst thing about it was probably that by now he was more worried something might have happened to the other than angry and it was that worry that made him knock at his neighbour’s door once again and ask if White had said anything to her.

 

“White?” the woman asked back irritated. “Oh, _him_. My, you sure have odd nicknames, what’s with him calling your `Black´ a few times, but to each their own. Come in. He left something for you some days ago.”

 

Black stayed suspiciously in the door, in a matter of seconds switching from the farce of worried neighbour straight to top agent of a spy agency, sensing their whole cover blown.

 

“What do you know?” he asked coldly, but although she must have noticed the change the woman didn’t react to it.

 

“You mean except the obvious? Nothing. At least nothing I could prove and I doubt I would actually want to know the truth either way” she said with a forced smile, the first of that kind he had ever seen on her face. Then she took a key out of a cookie-box standing on her kitchen counter and gave it to Black.

 

“He said I would know when to give it to you and to tell you it leads to where you first met and that you would understand. I told him to be less cryptic, but ... your friend is in big trouble, isn’t he?”

 

Black eyed he key. It was rather small and bound to a red chip with a number on it, probably for a locker at the airport; that was where they had met for the first time as enemies ... but did the other really meant that? It didn’t seem right.

 

“If he’s not, he will be when I get my hands on him.”

 

The dark spy starred at the key for a moment longer, then closed his fingers around it, coming to a decision.

 

“Boney, I want you to take your family and leave the city. I don’t know what will happen, but you shouldn’t be here when it comes down.”

 

For a moment it seemed the woman would protest or break and ask all the questions she seemed to have held back for a long time, but then she let go of it in a great sigh and straightened, nodding to herself.

 

“How far?”

 

“Just leave.”

 

“I won’t see either of you ever again, will I?”

 

“No.”

 

She nodded again, then hugged him. Hesitating for the shortest moment Black returned a gestured.

 

“You know, for all that is worth it, I really liked living next to you.”

 

“Lair. I know I annoyed the living daylight out of you most of times” she retorted with a hint of amusement. “But for all that you are a complete stranger I’m convinced you are a good man and I wish you all the luck of this world. Be careful.”

 

“You too.”

 

And with that he was gone. He had an important mission to prepare after all. White wouldn’t have left him these clues if they weren’t important.

 

.o.

_Unwritten Spy Rule No 10: Never mix up private life with business._

.o.

 

Admittedly more on instinct than anything else Black decided against the airport in favour of a subway-station downtown, the place where they had first met as civil persons. Nothing had happened that day, though Black had spend the rest of the day trying to shake off possible stalkers, which was why he still remembered and it paid off now.

 

Of course Black didn’t just run to the lockers. He first checked and double checked everything to make sure the place was as safe as a public subway-station during rush-hour could possibly be and only then did he casually stroll to the lockers and opened the one White had left him the key for ... only to find another key, for a house or flat door he guessed, but there was no note or hint, nothing.

 

Great. He’d take the cryptic message over nothing any days.

 

Near the train station was a park and with nowhere else to go Black went there and sat down on a bench, thinking. Giving up was not an option, but he couldn’t just check every door in this damned city, assuming he was searching for a door in _this_ city to begin with. On the other hand: White wasn’t stupid and neither was Black. The other wouldn’t leave him just a key if it wasn’t possible to find out what it opened and where.

 

“Open, sesame.”

 

What a stupid idea; of course it didn’t work, but he couldn’t just sit and do nothing. Of course, he just could go and give his co-workers a run for their money, let them figure it out, but then questions would be asked he really didn’t want to answer, not to mention that without a hint of where to start they would be just as clueless as he was.

 

No, not clueless. Black brought the key closer to his eyes. There was a number carved into it and not by the maker. It had to be a room number and if that was the case, he was back in the game, because there were only three buildings with so many storeys in this city and only one had apartments.

 

“I swear to God, White if we survive this, we will have a serious talk about leaving hints.”

 

.o.

 

Black was more than relieved to discover that the key indeed opened the door to an apartment on the highest level of one of the highest apartment towers in the city.

 

Not wasting precious time on trying to imagine what would drive someone to live so high up – just imagine taking the stairway in case of a fire or any other emergency – the dark spy instantly started to search for any and every thing that could help him and found it surprisingly easy and `it´ turned out to be a lot!

 

Wrapped up in a blanket – the very same blanket White had stolen from Black that first time he had come to him – were blueprints, guard changes and details about the security system of White’s embassy building, enough in any case for Black to get in and out again.

 

“That fucker knew from the start this would happen and ran to his own death relying on me to save his ass! Okay, now it’s official, I slammed him into walls once too often” Black groaned, then something else caught his interest, something absolutely hilarious: the address of the other’s embassy. It was just three blocks down from his own.

 

.o.

 

“Finally awake?”

 

White couldn’t do much more than stare. The last thing he remembered was passing out under torture, or at least he figured he must have passed out, because he had absolutely no idea how he might have gotten wrapped into this actually quite familiar blanket and more importantly onto this plane, though the man next to him behind the control wheel provided a rather surprising clue.

 

“What ... ?”

 

“What has gotten into you to go back to them? Yeah, that’s what I would like to know as well.”

 

White sighed, pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders.

 

“I wanted to resign, put an end to this mess. I forgot we _can’t_ resign.”

 

“As if it wasn’t drilled into you since day one. With the stuff we know, of course they would never let us retire. What are you smiling about?”

 

“You. You really came for me.”

 

That answer took Black completely off guard. _Of course_ he had saved the other, but that White would be so openly happy about it surprised him. He probably shouldn’t tell the other right now that soon the White embassy would be no more since he had send the plans to his own; not because they were the enemy or how they had treated White ... okay, actually it had a lot to do with that, but mainly on principles. Call him old fashioned, but especially in their business there should be certain lines that shouldn’t be crossed and their superiors were no exception, end of discussion. Maybe there was a point to this war, maybe there wasn’t, but when even your own people were working against you it definitely wasn’t worth it anymore.

 

“Well, next time you plan on doing something this stupid, you better not send me on a paper chase. Actually, I would much appreciate if you just wouldn’t do it to begin with.”

 

“Aw, don’t tell me I got you worried, Black.”

 

“Blackcoal” the pilot corrected grumpy. “My name is Mathew Blackcoal. At this point we might as well do it the right well.”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“Trust me, most days I wish I would.”

 

“Oh. Well, then nice to meet you, Mathew Blackcoal. I’m Jeffrey Whitemoore.”

 

They managed to stay serious for exactly three point five seconds before bursting out in laughter. It was a small miracle Black managed to keep the plain airborne.

 

“I guess in that case we can just as well stick with our old nicknames. On that note, what do we do now, Black?”

 

“Vacation. A long one. Any preferences?”

 

White thought about it for a moment. He had seen the whole world already, they both had, but never went anywhere just for the sake of going there. The closest thing to a vacation he had ever had were the stays in the hospital and in Black’s apartment, so given the choice, where would he want to spend his first vacation in ... had it really been over twenty years? Damn, and they had said their expected lifespan was five years field duty tops. Statistics weren’t what they used to be anymore.

 

“Somewhere warm, at the ocean, nothing under five stars and the president suit for at least two weeks.”

  
“Sounds good to me. It’s not as if we couldn’t afford it for two _lifetimes_ anyway.”


	4. Epilogue

* * *

 

“You know, your aunt was right. The new job is much better and look at this wonderful house.”

 

“I know, dear. My name is on the deed of ownership, too, remember?” Boney reminded in jest. The hasty escape they had made after their neighbour’s warning had actually been the best thing that had ever happened to them. Her husband was happy, they had finally enough room for their kids to grow up and if she was honest, she liked this city a whole lot better than the other. The only thing she missed was the man from next door. True, he had been a complete stranger even after living door to door for two years and she had no prove that he was connected in any way to what had happened in the city. Still, even without that the woman was well aware that the further away from him they were the better. Despite that, however, her neighbour had been a kind and good man in his own way and she would have liked to at least know if he and his friend were alright.

 

“Oh, that reminds me, there was this letter in the mail today, addressed to you” he said and handed his wife a white envelope with nothing more on it that the words `To Boney´.

 

Confused she opened it and smiled widely, showing the photo she found in it to her husband. The picture was mainly occupied by a man with dark hair looking older than he probably was even with the huge sunglasses and straw hat, but he wore the biggest grin Boney had ever seen. In the background she spotted a blond man in green boxers, stretching. There was no indication about where they were, no landscape and nothing, just a short part of a beach, the ocean and the blue sky, but that wasn’t important. She might not know their names and never see them again, but still pinned the picture to the fridge and smiled.

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kind off unnecessary, but I really wanted to have this epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry about the Boney M. joke. It's lame and I only did it because I needed a name and my playlist went retro on me ... well, and because I thought it hilarious that time.
> 
> For those of you who don't know: "Boney M" is a disco band formation from the 1970s. Dunno if they were known outside of Germany, but you might recognise them by their songs Ma Baker, Daddy Cool or Rasputin.
> 
> Disclaimer: not mine, not making money with it. I'm just borrowing the characters to have some fun XD


End file.
